


Diamond

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Dom/sub, Dominance, Ficlet, M/M, Mild Alternate Universe, Slavery, Smauglock, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:45:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a moment with King Smaug and his nearly-kidnapped treasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diamond

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He left the city in ruins, burned to ashes and half aflame, just that little, pitiful pocket the dwarves so dearly like. If they want their lesser mountain caves anything less than a dragon’s inferno, they should know better than to provoke their king. Smaug swoops back into his own castle, humanized feet barely touching the ground as he glides through the halls. There are no servants to greet him, to bow to him; he is the great dragon and has no need for anyone. 

...Well, almost anyone. 

The magic thickens around him as he turns the last steps, scales slinking away in most places to leave creamy, smooth-peach skin. His tail still trails him, severely shrunk, his drawn in wings a fraction of their former glory. Still, this is the only way to duck into the ancient champers that once belonged to a greedy dwarf, and Smaug crosses the threshold with pride. 

A smile twists onto his lips as he nears the four-poster bed—an old relic mostly for show. The _gold_ is his bed. But his greatest treasure needs a pillow to be displayed upon, and Smaug’s claw, now just five long fingers with sharp nails, pulls aside the sheer, crimson linens. The light of the surrounding candles flickers through the new window, painting the skin gold on Smaug’s prize possession. 

His little hobbit looks up at him, full of helplessness and apologies, unable to breathe a word around the thick, glossy red ball in his mouth. Gold straps hold it on, like the gold chains bound around his wrists behind his back and those around his ankles. A heavy collar embellished with rubies adorns his neck, a thinner chain draping down his bare body. Tiny little specks of gold dust cling to his cheeks and his thighs to add a rich quality, and Smaug shows a lazy smile. 

“Didn’t get very far, did you, little one?” 

Bilbo makes a keening noise and leans forward, then promptly hangs his head at his inability to justify himself. Smaug takes his time slipping onto the bed and letting the curtains fall behind him, encasing them in the stifling hot semi-darkness of their makeshift cage. While Bilbo sits still like a good boy, Smaug reaches for the chain hanging from his neck and idly toys with the individual ringlets, presenting the threat of control. There’s a sick sort of satisfaction that comes from seeing Bilbo squirm; the poor thing’s thighs are trembling. Smaug drawls coolly, voice no less deep and powerful in this nimble form, “I must say, my dear hobbit: I’m not at all pleased with you. Here I thought we had something special. Yes, I’m a king of this mountain and this world, and you’re simply my pretty pet—” Smaug pauses here to cup Bilbo’s cheek and thumb back a few strands of curly, honey hair—Bilbo shivers at the touch. “But that doesn’t mean what we have doesn’t matter. I’ve treated you well, haven’t I? And there you go, running away with dwarves...”

As soon as Smaug taps the gag, letting the magic dissolve so that the ball drops and rolls into Bilbo’s lap, Bilbo’s spluttering and coughing, “I didn’t—” But Smaug knows; he shuts Bilbo up with a kiss. Even when they start off chaste, they always turn out _fierce_. Smaug’s long tongue traces the seam of Bilbo’s lips, and they part for their master, probably still sore from the gag. Smaug pays no attention, just ravishes this familiar, delicious mouth. Bilbo’s lips are slightly swollen from abuse and especially soft. Smaug doesn’t stop until Bilbo’s gagging for air, arching up into him and nearly shaking. When Smaug pulls back, he’s surprised to see the traces of moisture in the corners of Bilbo’s eyes.

Smaug gives Bilbo several seconds to regain control, and then Bilbo opens his mouth to insist, “They ca—” But Smaug cuts him off again with another bruising kiss. Smaug’s arms encircle Bilbo’s waist, below his bound arms, and hike him easily up into Smaug’s lap. He fits there so perfectly, but today there’s a single awkward element; his thighs part around Smaug’s lap, but his ankles are still bound together behind him. His tied arms prevent him form holding on, so Smaug has to do it, has to hold his back, then the leash instead, keeping Bilbo taut by it. 

The second Smaug parts to give Bilbo air, he hisses, “What a naughty thing you are, betraying your beloved master...” He rewards Bilbo with a breath of particularly scalding steam wafting over his face; he scrunches his eyes closed and coughs, cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. He’s so easy to control with it; to turn on, to make tired, to make content. At this level, Bilbo whimpers and squirms. 

“Smaug, I didn’t...”

“Is that any way to address your master?” Smaug snarls. A thicker hot cloud of air wafts around them, and Smaug shoves Bilbo through it, knocking him over onto his back, thighs spread in the air. His head bounces in the pillows, chest arched over his arms. Smaug has an easy time of climbing atop him, draping his whole body in shadow and heat, swallowing him whole. Even at a fracture of his true size, Smaug still towers over Bilbo’s tiny frame. Bilbo cowers beneath him, face near desperate. He looks about to speak again, but Smaug drawls first, “Perhaps we don’t have anything at all, to you. Perhaps I should simply throw you to them, find myself a new, more willing creature to fill my bed—”

“No!” Bilbo shouts, and he tries to surge up before Smaug shoves him back down. He writhes in his bonds and whines, tears prickling at the tops of his cheeks, “They captured me—I didn’t want to go with them!” Bilbo’s jerking from side to side so hard that his shoulder jams into Smaug’s, and Smaug grunts, pulling back half a centimeter. Bilbo instantly settles down, wet eyes wide, and he sniffs, looking pitifully heartbroken. 

Smaug has half a mind to swallow his smirk. Just because he enjoys playing with his toys doesn’t mean he actually wants to break them. He didn’t expect Bilbo to get quite so... upset.

Bilbo sniffs again and mumbles halfway between a plea and an order, “Don’t send me away.” His eyes say the rest; of _course_ they have something. Something more than special. 

Smaug purrs, “I know, little one.” And he leans down to nuzzle into the side of Bilbo’s face, the way he would bump Bilbo with his great muzzle were he still in his natural form. Dragons don’t apologize, but the way he kisses Bilbo’s cheek hopefully conveys something to that effect. Bilbo makes a frustrated noise, and Smaug resists the urge to chuckle. There was never any real danger of Bilbo’s kidnapping anyway. Smaug’s magic knows just what to do with his hobbit. Now he’s dealt with the culprits and he’s returned his precious mate, and he kisses away Bilbo’s almost-tears to soothe, “I’m not truly angry with you.”

Bilbo softly repeats, “Don’t send me away.” Something tightens in Smaug’s chest.

He nips at Bilbo’s cheek and growls fiercely, “ _Never._ ” he licks over the teeth marks he left, and he places a lingering kiss to Bilbo’s throat. 

Then he lifts back up to elbows and knees, so close that their chests touch on each of Bilbo’s breaths. There’s no need to keep him tied, but there’s something about the way Bilbo looks in chains, properly dressed up as his courtesan, that Smaug finds irresistible. Perhaps he was simply looking for excuses. 

He rocks his hips once into Bilbo, and he sighs, “I suppose you should make it up to me, all the same.” He bares a toothy grin so that there’s no confusion, and he grinds his hips harder down; Bilbo breaks off in a sweet gasp. He nods instantly. _Anything_ to make Smaug happy. 

It only takes a second to roll them over—Smaug grabs Bilbo’s hips and falls to his side, and in a flash, he’s in the bed and Bilbo’s straddling him, gasping louder. Bilbo tries to steady himself, but without his arms, it’s difficult, and Smaug holds onto his waist, smirking proudly up. One little shove, and Bilbo’s ripe ass is sitting on his crotch, and he bucks his hips again to show he means business. Bilbo bounces with the movement, moaning and nodding again—yes, yes: he’ll be good. The chain clinks as it slithers down his chest, rearranging. Such a pretty thing. 

He lifts up on his knees, hovering and ready to make it up in spades.

Smaug assures his precious lover, “I will never let anyone take you from me.” And Bilbo climbs on, smiling back to say that’s all he’s ever wanted.


End file.
